Tuesday, 20 August 2013

He’s terrified of flying and I’m terrified of putting him
through it, whilst also knowing it will be worth it at the end. I am also
terrified of what other passengers will think of us while I talk whatever shit
is necessary to keep him sane for the duration (on one occasion that involved
hijacking Kate Garraway in the toilet queue with something like, ‘‘scuse me
famous woman’- couldn’t remember her
name- ‘would you come and talk to my son a minute, cos he really needs the loo
and he is too scared to get out of his seat and you can just talk about being
on the telly and that will distract him. OK?’ And bless the woman, she did just
that).

So next time, I thought ahead – drugs. Here’s what not to
do: walk into your local Boots, ask for the pharmacist, then say, “I need
something to drug an 18 yr old boy, to take him on a plane.” I can only imagine
I looked a lot hotter in those days, because stressed mummy was not what he saw
when he told me he could advise no such thing.

Well in a moment of madness or desperation, hubs and I
decided about ten days ago to book a last minute holiday. In Spain. Never been.
It’s not too long a flight, we can go from the local airport and beloved son
hasn’t got too long to panic. Mmmmm.

Stress levels through the roof. ‘What sort of plane is it?’
He means is it big enough that he won’t feel every movement (which he does
because of his damaged ears). I don’t know.

‘What is there to do in Spain?’ I gave him a list of places
to research.

‘Will someone try to blow up the plane?’ I’m thinking a wee
flight to Malaga is an unlikely target, but apparently that’s not reassuring.

Anyway, thanks to my predilection for nightmares and
consequent sleep deprivation, I have some very low dose tablets that just might
save the day/flight. Of course, I’m the one who’ll be taking them. (No, M’lud,
I’m not winking at anyone).